


Packright

by wingthing



Series: The EQ Alternaverse [16]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: EQ Alternaverse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:03:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingthing/pseuds/wingthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strongbow and Moonshade's daughter Kit is intent on helping the troubled son of Aurek and Vaya find his place with the Wolfriders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

“What are we going to do about Littlefire?” 

Rainsong frowned at Nightfall’s words. “Do about him? You make him sound like a problem – like a hive of yellow-stripes set outside the Holt.” 

**A hive of yellow-stripes I can understand!** Strongbow sent angrily. **That cub of Egg’s...** 

“You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear, Strongbow,” Redlance said cooly. He had assembled Nightfall, Rainsong and Strongbow together in his den to discuss their newest tribemate. So far, however, the meeting had been less than productive. 

“Let’s speak plainly here,” Nightfall said calmly. “Littlefire has been a disruptive influence on this tribe since the moment he arrived. I know he doesn’t mean to. I know it’s simply his nature. But the death-sleep season is upon us, and we’re well behind in our harvest. Our storeholes are only half-filled. But he does not contribute to the tribe – he will not join the hunt, he cannot be left to gather plants on his own. It seems a day doesn’t go by when he wanders off and one of us has to go looking for him. We’re a small tribe – every member must contribute for the tribe to flourish.” 

“What do you suggest we do, lifemate?” Redlance asked. 

“Sit down with Littlefire. Try to make him understand our point of view.” 

**It’s a fool’s errand trying to make that half-wit understand anything.** 

“Strongbow,” Redlance warned. “You’re not helping.” 

**I still don’t understand why can’t Rainsong just... heal him.** 

Rainsong sighed wearily. “I can’t ‘heal him’ if he’s not injured or ill. And he’s not.” 

**He’s mad, isn’t he?** 

“He’s not mad! He’s just... different. You have to understand, Strongbow. Littlefire... his mind is healthy. And his body is healthy. It’s... it’s the connection between head, hand and heart that’s... out of step with ours.” 

**Exactly. He’s mad.** 

“Is Timmain mad? Is Aurek? Is Ekuar?” 

**Sometimes I wonder!** 

“You cannot simply find fault in anyone who sees the world in a different way, Strongbow. Think of how disoriented Timmain was in those first moments when she became an elf when we won the Palace War – remember how strange she seemed when she visited us all those years ago when Sunstream took the Palace to Blue Mountain. Littlefire is like that all the time – always living in a slightly different world from ours. It’s just the way he is. It’s the way his parents’ Recognition made him.” 

**Recognition was meant to guard against such... aberrations.** 

“He is not an aberration ,” Rainsong insisted. “And I cannot ‘heal’ him, Strongbow, anymore than I can remake his soul. Instead of focusing on the difficulties he poses, we should concentrate on the gifts he has to offer us.” 

**What gifts? The gift of finding it entrancing to sit and stare at moonlight for the better part of the night? Or feeling the ‘life-force’ of animals so intensely that you weep to swat a fly? He’d do better to settle in Sorrow’s End. We have no use for his talents in a Wolfrider tribe!** 

“You are needlessly harsh, Strongbow,” Nightfall said. “But I cannot disagree. I don’t know if Littlefire belongs here. I don’t know if he’s even happy here. It seems he’d be much happier in Sorrow’s End, or back with his parents in the Great Holt.” 

“I don’t think he’s unhappy here,” Rainsong said. “He wants to learn about our way. He’s been to Sorrow’s End already. He stayed with the Plainsrunner Elves for one season. And he spent a year in the Wild Hunt with his brothers. He even lived at Green Moon Bay for a while. It’s his way. He is... fascinated by the way different elves look at the world.” 

“And we didn’t mind during the summer,” Nightfall said gently. “But now we need every pair of hands. Simply sitting and watching is not enough now. He has to participate in our tribe if he wants to stay. I do not think that is unreasonable.” 

Redlance nodded reluctantly. “No. And I can’t deny he is a disruption to this tribe.” 

**We’re aren’t thinking about casting him out into the snow, for Freefoot’s sake!** Strongbow sent. **We’re not the only tribe of elves. Let’s just tell him it’s time to leave.** 

“I’ve never driven anyone out of this tribe yet, Strongbow. Not even when Skot decided to spend three winters back to back one tree over. Remember how you growled then? Remember when the Yellow Creek Pack settled nearby? You said the mountain could not hold both Wolfriders and Go-Backs. But the two tribes live side by side happily.” 

**Then let the Yellow Creeks deal with Littlefire!** 

“Littlefire just needs guidance,” Rainsong said. “He’s a very bright cub. He’s helped me several times with gathering my plants. I’ll admit, I need to watch him closely, but–” 

Strongbow snorted. **Bah. An errant child with powers of gliding, a sending that no one can withstand, and a mind that can’t understand anything less than sending. I say his parents take him back. We are a tribe of Wolfriders. We always have been. This tribe was founded as a bastion of the Way. He is not the Way. It’s a simple as that.** 

Redlance smiled wryly. “I shudder to think what Vaya might do if she overheard us.” 

“Send Sust and Skot to ‘settle’ us, I’m sure,” Nightfall quipped. 

Redlance sighed. “This isn’t something I can simply order. We need to have a general council.” 

“With Littlefire?” Rainsong asked. 

“Of course.” 

She bit her lip. “He won’t like that. You know he’s not comfortable in groups larger than three.” 

Redlance nodded. “I know. But... the entire tribe deserves to all have a voice. I cannot feel comfortable deciding Littlefire’s place in the tribe without him. It’s not the Wolfrider way to hold councils in secret. Several small councils, scattered over several nights – it will spread rumours and strife between tribemates. No. But perhaps... if we held council out in the open, give Littlefire a lot of space, so he won’t feel threatened. Perhaps we can show him that there’s nothing to be feared from a group. If we can only gain his trust...” 

“It isn’t a matter of trust, Redlance,” Rainsong said. “It’s... overwhelming for him. Too many elves, all around him – it feels smothering to him.” 

Strongbow growled audibly. Nightfall frowned. At length Redlance sighed. “Open council and open sendings is the Way. And this Holt is built upon the Way. If Littlefire wants to stay here, then he must learn to accept our ways.” 

“When will we hold council?” Nightfall asked. 

“Now,” Redlance said. 

* * * 

“And then I mix the pigment with the liquid,” Kit continued. “Usually I use the eggs of small birds. Once I tried using melted wax – it didn’t work. Water will do in a pinch, of course, but I find the colours stick to the leather best when I use egg as the binding liquid. Littlefire, are you listening?” 

“Hmm...” the Glider murmured, his nose still pressed firmly against Kit’s bound hair. 

Kit smiled. The other tribemembers were always unnerved by Littlefire’s ways – one moment distant and shunning even eye contact, the next physically intimate in a way usually reserved for lovemates and close family. But Kit found his almost child-like manner charming. 

Then again, perhaps it was because she hoped their relationship might become... somewhat more intimate. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I like your scent. Like old leather.” 

“I hope that’s a good thing,” she said archly. But Littlefire was immune to the subtle inflections in voices, and he simply replied, “Yes. Comforting. Warm.” 

“I thought I was showing you how I mix my paints?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Littlefire nodded repeatedly. “Yes – paints. Paints with water or egg – egg works better. But they smell strange. I like them better when they dry. Smoother. Not so... sharp.” 

Amazing, how his senses were as heightened as hers, but different. It was as if he had the blood of another forest predator in his veins. “First I started with simple pictures,” she continued. “But then I tried more abstract images. Before long I had my own symbols that stood for words. So soon I could tell my stories in words painted onto the leather.” She dipped her brush into the pot of black paint and began to paint designs on the tanned hide. Littlefire abandoned his in-depth inspection of her hair to stare at the symbols blossoming on the leather. 

“What does it say?” 

“I’m telling the howl of my father’s last bear-hunt,” she said. The symbols were all arranged into a long curving line. “See. Start here: ‘And Strongbow took his spear, not his own bow, and joined One-Eye and Chief Redlance. They traveled many nights through darkest forest, many night alert for bear.’” She set the brush down. “See. Eventually the lines of symbols will form the shape of a bear rearing back on its hind legs. When I first realized I wanted to create this language of symbols I spent some time with the howlkeepers at Green Moon Bay – well, they call them scribes there. And they had a written language too –“ 

“Uh-huh. They stole it from the trolls.” 

“Right. Have you seen a paper written with their symbols? All straight lines. Left to right. Up and down. It’s so... restricting. Like a cage. I decided I’d make my own way of writing, one that suited the Wolfriders better.” 

“I-I-I like the way the pirates do it. Straight lines. Simple.” 

Kit turned to face him, and Littlefire averted his eyes. 

“Perhaps this white-cold I’ll teach you to read my symbols.” 

“I’d – I’d like that.” 

She smiled. “So would I. I’d like to have a tribemate to share my writing with.” 

He looked mildly horrified. “So... so –so – so no one else here can read your work?” he stammered at length. 

“Rainsong can read a little,” she shrugged. “But the others – I don’t know. The symbols all blur together in their heads and they cannot tell them apart. ‘Bear’ looks too much like ‘mountain’ and ‘Swift’ looks too much like ‘Rayek.’ I suppose it’s all too much to take in.” 

Littlefire laughed lightly. “I like that.” 

“What? What do you like?” 

He looked a little sheepish. “That other elves get everything blurred in their heads too. Some-sometimes I think I’m the only one.” 

“Oh, we do, Littlefire. You see things sharply sometimes where we see only a blur.” She almost reached out to touch his shoulder, but checked herself. 

“Sometimes... I wish I didn’t see some things...” 

“What do you mean?” she watched him closely, wondering what sights might assault his heightened senses. 

“I wish... I wish –” he jerked his head a little, and his nervous stammer returned. “I-I- I wish I didn’t see the way they look at me!” 

“Who?” Kit asked, but she already knew who he meant. The ones who did not understand him – who had no desire to understand him. The ones who thought him some mistake of nature. 

She nodded in sympathy. If Littlefire were lost but a little more in his own world, he might never notice how some elves looked at him. 

How Kit’s own parents looked at him... 

She tried to change the subject to something lighter. “You’ve visited all the tribes. Which did you like the best?” 

He shrugged. “They’re all... different. Sorrow’s End was slow... quiet, gentle. But too bright. And too crowded. Green Moon Bay was... full of... sensations. But too loud. And much, much too crowded.” He jerked his head reflexively. Kit had learned it meant he was very uncomfortable. “Blue Mountain was nice. Very nice. Quiet, dark, peaceful. I like Two-Edge. And Aroree. They understand.” 

“How about the Plainsrunners? Your grandsire’s there. You must have liked it up there on the Plainswaste.” 

“Yes. So much... emptiness. But the Plainsrunners are loud. And they don’t like me. They don’t understand. Grandfather understands. So does Mardu. But the others don’t. But... I... I liked being with the Wild Hunt.” He smiled a little shyly. “With Uncle Teir. And Cheipar and Weatherbird. I make sense to them.” He laughed. “They make sense to me.” 

“And what about Thorny Mountain?” Kit smiled gently. “How do we measure?” 

Littlefire jerked his head again and closed his eyes tight. “I don’t know yet.” 

“You’ve been here for a full season already.” 

“I like... some times. Some... some elves.” He met her gaze for the briefest moment. 

Kit smiled. “I like you too, Littlefire.” 

He looked away. 

She wanted to curse herself for her shyness. Why couldn’t she simply ask him? She was no shrinking maiden. But there was something about Littlefire... his painful shyness was contagious, and she could not bring herself to ask outright if he would be her lovemate. 

She wasn’t even certain if he took lovemates. He had a great aversion to being touched by any but members of his immediate family. One poorly-timed hug from Spar felt like an assault, he had said. A tap on the shoulder from behind terrified him. For all she knew, he had never known joining and never cared to. 

Littlefire was looking back at the leather canvas. “D-do I have a symbol?” he asked. 

Kit smiled. She dipped her brush in paint and drew his symbol on a scrap of bark on which she practiced her brush strokes. It was a curving line almost in the outline of an ear, or a single flame, surrounded by four smaller brush strokes. 

“Littlefire,” she explained, pointing to the central flame, then the surrounding sparks. 

He smiled, mesmerized by the picture. 

“How did you get your name?” she asked him then. “It’s not a very Glider name – nor a Go-Back one, for that matter. Was it a nickname at first –like Coppersky?” 

He laughed softly. “Papa Pike. And Skot! I-it was all their fault. When I-I was born, my eyes were already so dark–” 

So intense, Kit corrected in her head. A deep brooding stormy blue-grey. 

“A-and Papa Pike said they were eyes like the thunderclouds that bring skyfire. And Papa Skot laughed and said I was too – too tiny a thing to be a thunderstorm, or a bolt of skyfire. And he said something... about how I was a ‘little fire.’ And it stuck.” 

“But what do your parents call you?” she asked. 

“Son.” 

For a moment she wondered if he had actually made a joke, and she nearly laughed. But she decided to opt for a gentle smile instead, lest she hurt his feelings. 

“Or mite,” he added thoughtfully. 

“That would be Vaya, I take it.” Though he must have been a very small child, she thought; when he straightened to full height instead of crouching nervously he was half a head taller than Strongbow. 

“No, Father, too. He said I could fit in his hand when I was born.” He was silent a moment, lost in thought. “Turtle,” he added. 

“Turtle?” Now she laughed. “Why ‘Turtle?’” 

“Because I’m always hiding–” 

“Hiding in your shell,” she finished with him. “That’s a wonderful howl. I’ll have to write it down.” 

He blushed. “It’s... not important.” 

“Yes, it is. All names are important. If our soulnames tell us who we are, then our tribe names tell others who we are. They... they clothe us. I love hearing the stories of names, especially the giving of new ones. Sometimes I wonder if I should take a new name... something to do with my howlkeeping. As Hummer became Songshaper, as Oakroot became Tanner. Kit... it’s such a cub’s name.” 

“I like it,” Littlefire said. “I... I’d be a little sad if you changed it.” 

She smiled. She opened her mouth to say that in that case she would keep it and wear it proudly, but her train of thought was interrupted by a sudden open sending from the chief. Littlefire winced and put his hands to his ears. “What –?” he frowned, unable to understand what was to him an overwhelming flood of sensation. 

“A council. Now.” Kit’s brow furrowed. **Redlance,** she sent back. **I’m with Littlefire now. Should he come too?** 

The reply came swiftly – a little too swiftly. **Yes.** 

**He’s... a little... removed. If he can miss it–** 

**He can’t,** came the clipped reply, and Kit had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew her parents had been complaining about Littlefire’s strange behaviour. Spar had hinted that it would not be long before the elders lost patience with him. Now it seemed the time had come for confrontation. 

“We have to go to council,” she said gently. 

“No,” Littlefire shook his head. “Can you just listen for me?” 

“I’m sorry. Chief Redlance said he wants you there.” 

Littlefire began to tug at a sidelock of hair in agitation. The action struck Kit as unsettling, even somewhat violent, but at length the repetitive motion calmed him. “If I have to,” he sighed miserably. 

* * * 

The autumn leaves we beginning to fall as the tribe met on the central platform linking the trees that formed the Holt. Redlance and Nightfall sat on a large knot in the tree trunk, overlooking the rest of the tribe perched on branches or sat on the flat wooden platform Redlance had long ago shaped. 

At first the council began innocuously enough, as Redlance asked for an update on the filling of their storeholes for the coming winter. Moonshade beckoned Kit to come sit with her and Strongbow, but the howlkeeper shook her head and remained at Littlefire’s side. She could read the expressions of her tribemates. Rainsong frequently looked to the Glider with pity and concern, while Strongbow pointedly ignored Littlefire’s presence. Something was indeed brewing. 

“Now, One-Eye,” Redlance turned to the bearded elder. “How goes the progress with weapons? We’ve precious little metal left to us now, and we’ll need those blackstone arrowheads of yours if we hope to keep hunting through the white-cold.” 

One-Eye shrugged. “Getting the blackstone’s easy enough. I’ve struck a good deal with Vorik and the Yellow Creek Pack to take the blackstone from their territory. But I can’t seem to figure out how to knap the stone right.” 

“We’ve been spoiled for so long, my chief,” Clearbrook spoke up. “We’ve been trading with the trolls since Mantricker’s time, and we’ve let our stone-working skills lie dormant for too long.” 

**My mother Trueflight was a fine knapper,** Strongbow sent. **I wish I had learned from her.** 

“Have you tried any other stone?” Moonshade asked. 

“Aye, I’ve made some fine arrowheads in flint and feldspar,” One-Eye said. “But the stone here is not strong enough to hold up in a hunt. The arrow is only good once, and then it’s lost. No, this Thorny Mountain flint works well for our butchering tools, and small knives, it’s just too fragile to knap into arrowheads. And by my eye, I cannot find the right way to knap the blackstone without shattering it.” 

“Perhaps we should just call for the Palace,” Spar suggested idly. “Pay a visit to the trolls and get ourselves some real arrowheads.” 

“I can do this!” One-Eye growled. “I just need more time to practice.” 

“We do things differently here than in the Great Holt,” Redlance reminded his daughter gently. “And one of our rules is not to seek aid needlessly when we can find a way to muddle through ourselves. The Wolfrider way is to be self-sufficient, and that is what we strive to be.” 

Spar rolled her eyes. Spending half her time in the Great Holt with her agemates as she did, she was viewed by the elders as an overgrown spoiled cub who could never learn to fend for herself without a great deal of handholding by equally spoiled elves. 

Spar, for her part, was convinced the Eldertribe enjoyed being primitive and miserable. 

Arrogance for arrogance, Kit though wryly. No wonder Littlefire preferred to distance himself from any tribal affliation. 

“The white-cold promises to come early this year,” Nightfall spoke. “We can scent it on the wind.” 

“Aye,” One-Eye said. “We can’t afford to be idle now, by the looks of our storeholes.” 

“I’ve been watching the herds,” Woodlock spoke, “and they seemed to be moving south early too.” 

“We need extra furs and leathers,” Moonshade said. “Our cold weather leathers are hardly fit to be worn.” 

“I think it is time we redouble our efforts,” Redlance said thoughtfully. “Woodlock, I’m sorry but I’ll need you to leave your clay for now. We need your bow in the hunt.” 

“Of course.” 

“And Kit,” 

“Yes?” 

“Your howling hides will have to wait for now. We need you hunting too, and I’m afraid all the leathers will have to go to your mother for tanning.” 

The beginnings of a scowl crossed her features. “But I can keep the hide I have now? I’ve already begun my howl–” 

Redlance shook his head. “It will have to wait until we are all clothed for winter. We can wash off the paint or cut it away. That hide will make two new pairs of trousers for the tribe.” 

Kit clenched her fists at her side to keep from losing her temper. “My chief, you would not command Pike to stop his howl in mid-song and then eat his own words to save energy. I’ve begun my story – the words are fixed down – I cannot just... uproot them–” 

“The words will live in your head and heart a little longer, Kit,” Nightfall said gently. 

“Such a face does not become you, daughter,” Moonshade smiled. 

Kit glared at her. **And such honey does not become you, Mother,** she locksent, **when you know well what pain it causes me to destroy my own work.** 

**You’re not destroying it – only postponing it –** 

**The words are fixed down!** Kit snapped. 

Though none could hear the silent argument between tanner and howlkeeper, they could easily guess, and Rainsong gently offered: “Kit, have you ever considered expanding your painting onto bark? You made such a lovely bark basket for me, so delicately painted–” 

“Bark rots.” 

“I’m sorry, Kit,” Redlance said. “But we have been too idle this summer. Once this work is done and we are caught up on our leathers and our stores, then you can resume your howl-painting.” 

Kit lowered her head. Next to her, Littlefire seemed oblivious to the new development, engrossed in the whirls and knots in the bark of the tree branch. 

“Littlefire,” Redlance said. 

Littlefire did not look up. 

“Littlefire,” Redlance repeated, more sharply. Littlefire jerked his head. 

“I can hear you.” 

“Please look at me.” 

“I can’t.” 

“I know you can. Please, Littlefire. I don’t enjoy talking to tribemates when their backs are half-turned to me.” 

“But if I look at you I won’t be able to listen to you,” he said in his mouse’s voice. 

Redlance sighed at length. “Littlefire, have you been listening to the council?” 

“Yes, yes, yes.” He tugged at a lock of hair. “One-Eye can’t make arrowheads and you need clothes and you’re taking Kit’s stories from her.” 

Redlance glanced at Rainsong. She made a gesture that said “be gentle.” 

“Littlefire, we need to turn all our attentions to preparing for the white-cold. That means you have to help too. I know you like to sit by yourself, but we need you to contribute to the efforts.” 

“I can’t hunt. You know that. I can’t.” 

“I know you’re no hunter. But we’ve spoken of this before. Could you not fly with the pack, and carry a net? You could be very valuable in bringing prey down–” 

“No!” Littlefire snapped. “No hunting. No blood. I can’t stand blood! Makes me sick! Sick!” he pulled at his hair again. “Raw meat... blood – no!” 

“My chief, Littlefire cannot join the hunt in any way,” Rainsong said. “If he catches scent of the fresh blood – you know he cannot stand the smell. Why don’t you work with me, Littlefire? We can go collecting herbs and plants for the winter.” 

Littlefire nodded eagerly. But Nightfall looked at Rainsong meaningfully. Rainsong cleared her throat. “But... if you could concentrate on your task a little more... the last time you picked the wrong plants–” 

Littlefire looked down at the branch. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“We all know it’s hard for you to concentrate on one thing too long,” Woodlock said gently. “It’s in your nature, we understand. But...” 

“But we’re a small tribe,” Redlance said. “And in order to survive, every tribemember has to do his part. I know it is hard for you,” he added hastily as Littlefire drew his knees up to his chest and Strongbow began to growl under his breath at the young elf’s defensive posture. “Perhaps you can help us – is there any task you think you would be well suited to?” 

“I can help Kit with her howls,” Littlefire mumbled. 

“We don’t need howls now,” Redlance said. “We need hands at the hunt or the tanning or the gathering. If you like, you could help Kit and Moonshade with the making of winter clothes.” 

“No,” he said sullenly. He bent his head down and only Kit heard him mutter: “You took her hide away.” 

“Smoking?” Nightfall asked. “You could smoke meat.” 

Littlefire shook his head. “No, no, not... right.” 

“What is right for you?” Nightfall asked. “Littlefire, if you wish to stay here you must contribute.” 

“You want me to leave?” 

“Of course not,” Redlance said. 

Strongbow continued to growl to himself. 

“But every tribemember must contribute,” he continued. 

“This isn’t the Great Holt,” Nightfall added. “You cannot simply sit idle.” 

Spar rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’re all idle and overfed slugs,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Perhaps... perhaps the Great Holt is more suited to your nature,” Clearbrook said. 

“You do want me to leave!” 

“We want you to be happy,” Nightfall cajoled. “But if the ways of this tribe do not make you happy...” 

“Why are you doing this?” Littlefire pleaded. “Why are you attacking me?” 

“We are not attacking you,” Redlance said firmly. 

One-Eye stood. “Look here, Littlefire. We all know you’re... different. You’re a Glider and you’ve got a lot of that Glider... quality in you. But you chose to come here and asked to be part of our tribe. And if you want packright, then you have to earn it. You can’t just sit back and watch us all and compare us to all the other tribes you’ve visited and then go back to your father and add us all into the Egg. I don’t know about the others but I for one don’t like being studied like ants by a curious cub.” 

Littlefire scowled. 

“One-Eye,” Rainsong said gently. 

“No. I’m sick of the way we are forced to coddle him. And I’m right sick of the way he always sits away from us, never helps out, and expects us to feed and shelter him. Littlefire, this is our Holt, and our Way. If you can’t accept it and be part of it then you don’t belong here.” 

“This is a Wolfrider tribe,” Moonshade said pointedly. “I think we have all done our best to make you feel welcome–” 

“Your best?” Littlefire snapped. “You’re always on attack. In my face. Right in front of me. All around me. Too close! Too loud! Too sharp!” 

“What does that mean?” Moonshade demanded in exasperation. 

“It means he’s afraid,” Kit shot back. “He can’t interact with so many elves at once. You all know that. He can’t concentrate on all the voices at once. It’s like... like you are all shouting in his ears and shoving him about. It’s an assault on his senses.” 

“This is how we do things, Littlefire,” Clearbrook said. “The tribe is united. As one.” 

“Too much, too many! Can’t you leave me alone?” 

Redlance’s gentle smile hardened slightly. “If that’s what you want, then you can’t be happy here. Maybe it’s for the best –” 

“You! You! You! You say what’s best! You leave me with nothing! No voice!” 

“This is our tribe,” Moonshade muttered under her breath. 

“We are trying, Littlefire,” Nightfall said. “If you could only... meet us halfway, and make an effort to be part of this tribe–” 

“He can’t!” Kit snapped. “And it’s unfair to blame him for his nature.” 

“Oh, I cannot stand this,” One-Eye said. “We all coddle him like a cub. But you’re not a cub, Littlefire. You’re a grown elf. And if you cannot abide by our rules and run with our pack, then you cannot stay here. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable,” he turned to the others for support. “It’s simply the Way. I’m sure in the Palace your.... qualities are appreciated. So why stay here with us when we’ll never understand you and you’ll never be able to contribute to the tribe?” 

“This isn’t right,” Kit said. “You cannot simply order him away.” 

“Wolves will swiftly rid themselves of the sick or unsound among them,” Moonshade said haughtily. 

“He is not sick or unsound!” Kit snapped. 

“But he is causing a disruption,” Redlance said softly. “And we cannot afford strife in the tribe, not with so much to be done.” 

“So this is what the Eldertribe does?” Kit demanded. “Whenever there is a disagreement we just cast the offending elf out?” 

“Kit,” Redlance warned. “We are not casting blame here. We have a problem we are trying to resolve.” 

“Oh, I see plenty of blame being cast. And all on one set of shoulders.” 

“Kit. Enough.” 

“Wouldn’t you just be happier back at the Great Holt with your family?” Spar called across to Littlefire. But he had pulled his knees back to his chest and refused to look up. “Littlefire? Did you hear me? Littlefire?” 

**Well, he’s off in the clouds again,** Strongbow sent. **This is what happens when we let Gliders in a Wolfrider tribe.** 

“What is happening?” Rainsong demanded. “Is everything that is not Wolfrider now considered wrong?” 

“Of course not,” Nightfall said. “But the fact remains we founded this Holt as a return to the Way. Sorrow’s End, the Great Holt, they are homes where all ways thrive. But this is a Wolfrider tribe. And we agreed long ago than anyone wishing to claim packright must abide by the Way.” 

“We aren’t saying he should be left in the snow,” One-Eye said. “Just that this doesn’t look like the place for him. Where’s the cruelty about saying that? Just because we won’t indulge him–” 

“I think we need to take a few moments,” Redlance said. 

“I think this has to end,” Kit said. 

“Littlefire?” Spar called. “Will you just look at me?” 

**Impossible!** Strongbow snapped. **Cursed moss-brained Glider – unsound to the core. Wrong to the core. Make him understand or send him home. I’ll not have some mad creature in my Holt! If Rainsong cannot make him think and speak and act –** 

“A little more like you?” 

The elves turned towards Littlefire. They had not thought him capable of hearing Strongbow’s sending, so withdrawn had he appeared. But now he was on his feet. Now he was looking Strongbow directly in the eyes. 

“More like you? So I can hunt and howl and run with the pack? Loud! Smothering! Too sharp! Everything is an attack! Everything is a hunt! You’re hunting me! You’re all watching me – striking me with your stares – wolves chasing a lame deer!” 

“Littlefire,” Redlance began. 

“Wrong? You’re wrong!” he stabbed a finger at the Wolfriders. “You live your life too fast, too loud, too intense. You're vicious!” 

“Vicious?” Moonshade demanded. “We have shown you nothing but compassion–” 

“‘Recognition gone wrong!’ That’s what you think of me. Worse than a lame deer. Wrong! Wrong to the core! Well, you’re just as wrong to me! You’re just as sick! You need a healing, not me!” 

“That’s enough,” Redlance said coldly. 

“It is enough!” Littlefire raged. “I’ll call the Palace tomorrow. I’ll go, go, go! I can’t stand this air anymore!” 

He leapt into the air and flew away without a backwards glance. “Littlefire!” Kit called, but the Glider had already disappeared into the canopy, bound for his distant den. She raced after him even as Moonshade called her name, and darted through the branches in search of Littlefire. 

Nightfall sighed. Redlance shook his head. Strongbow growled audibly and reached for his longbow. 

* * * 

“Littlefire!” Kit climbed in through the door to Littlefire’s den. He had asked Redlance to shape it several trees away from the rest of the Holt. Often after Spar or Kit cooked his portion of meat, he would take his meal up to his den to eat alone. It was one of his many little habits that annoyed the other Wolfriders, who were so used to communal meals. 

She found him already packing his meagre possessions into a worn leather bag. 

“Littlefire, wait.” She sat down on the furs next to him. 

“Can’t stay. Can’t stand the air. I’m going. Going.” 

“They had no right to say the things they did. You don’t have to just leave because Strongbow and One-Eye don’t like you.” 

“Time to go.” He continued to pack. “Go home.” 

“Stop!” she reached out to stay his hand. Littlefire pulled away in sheer terror. 

“I’m sorry,” Kit held up her hands. “I should have warned you. I’m sorry.” 

Littlefire resumed his packing. “Littlefire, please stop,” she said, more softly. 

“Why? No one wants me here.” 

“I want you here!” 

Littlefire looked up at Kit in amazement. Kit smiled softly and slowly reached to touch his cheek. When Littlefire did not draw back, Kit slid closer. She slipped her arms about him and hugged him tightly. To her surprise, Littlefire returned the embrace without hesitation. 

And just then Strongbow caught up with his daughter. 

“YOU!” he howled, his voice raw. He sprang inside the den and ripped Littlefire out of Kit’s arms. “Father!” Kit protested, but he had already shoved her away, against the wall of the den, focussing his wrath on the now-cowering Glider. 

“Keep your hands off my daughter, you – you – abberation!” 

“Stop it!” Littlefire raised his hands defensively. 

“YOU! You call us wrong! You with your sickness that can’t be healed! Mad rot-brained – don’t you touch my daughter, you–” 

**STOP!** Littlefire sent. 

The force of his sending overwhelmed the archer. It was like a wolf-sending, like Timmain’s sendings – overwhelming in its primal clarity. An assault of emotion – of terror and defensive fury – threw Strongbow back against the wall. His hands rose to his ears and he shut his eyes tight, struggling to lock his mind to the sending. Littlefire darted past him and out of the den. Kit staggered to her feet and chased after him. 

Strongbow, still dazed, reached up and caught her wrist. Kit shook his hand off without even stopping to glance at him.


	2. Part Two

Kit hunted for Littlefire throughout the trees before she finally found him sitting high in the trees, overlooking the valley southeast of the mountain. He was perched atop the tallest evergreen, on the highest branch that could support his weight. 

She sat down next to him. Littlefire gave no indication that he noticed her. 

“Don’t go,” she repeated. 

“I don’t have a choice,” he said glumly. “They all hate me.” 

“They don’t hate you. They’re just... confused by you.” 

“Your father hates me.” 

Kit smiled tightly. “Well, you taught him a lesson. No wonder they whisper about your sending powers, if you can flatten him like that.” 

“I didn’t mean to–” 

“Shh. He deserved it.” 

“He’ll come after me.” 

“No, he won’t. He won’t hurt you. None of us will.” 

“Can’t stay. I have to go.” 

“If you go, I’m coming with you.” 

He looked at her then, and held her gaze. “Kit?” 

She took his hand and he did not flinch. “You’re the first elf I’ve met who understands me – who really understand me. The others – Spar, Clearbrook, even my friends in the Great Holt – they think they understand what drives me to make my howling hides. But they don’t – they can’t know how important it is – why it tears out my heart to destroy work I’ve laid down. My hides might not be as grand as the Scroll of Colors or the Great Egg, but they mean everything to me – they are a part of me. And I’d rather freeze than cut them up for warm clothes. No one else can understand that. But you do.” She grinned. “I make sense to you. And I can’t say I’ve figured you out completely, but you’re starting to make a lot of sense to me.” 

Littlefire blinked. His expression was unreadable. 

“Stay here,” Kit implored. “We’ll find a way for you to fit in with the tribe.” 

Littlefire turned and looked back over the valley. At length he gave Kit’s hand a squeeze. 

* * * 

“Littlefire will live with me,” Kit informed the miniature council of Redlance, Nightfall, Rainsong and Strongbow as they sat in Redlance’s den. “I will be his watcher. I’ll make sure he doesn’t wander off, and I’ll make sure he does his share of the work. If there is a problem, you will come to me, and I will talk to Littlefire. Or he and I will meet with Chief Redlance, but only Chief Redlance. I will speak for him in open council, and he can watch from the trees if he wants. But I won’t let him be intimidated as he was this evening–” 

“This evening’s council was ill-planned,” Redlance admitted. “I should have taken your advice, healer,” he looked to Rainsong. “No matter how gentle we are, too many faces and too many voices will always seem like a confrontation.” 

“How is Littlefire?” Rainsong asked Kit. 

“He’s terrified. Part of him thinks you mean actual physical violence.” 

“What?” Redlance jumped to his feet. “Kit, you know–” 

“I know,” she smiled sadly. “But Littlefire sees everything so differently. You might have thought you were being gentle with him, but to him you were stalking him and bringing him down like prey. He’ll never adapt to the Way. He simply cannot, anymore than I can glide or Rainsong can treeshape. The question is, are the elders willing to make compromises so he can remain part of this tribe, so that he can continue to learn from us, and so we can start to learn from him?” 

Strongbow snorted. 

“Yes, learn from him,” she repeated, though she did not meet her father’s eyes. “His view of the world is like no other elf’s. And I think if we can learn to see through his eyes, we will all see what gifts he can offer this tribe.” 

“Does he truly want to stay here?” Nightfall asked. “After his parting words...” 

“He barely remembers what he said, Nightfall. When he feels cornered he reacts on instinct.” 

Redlance nodded. “And we cornered him.” He glanced at Nightfall and Strongbow. “We’ve been treating him like an errant cub, as we would treat one of our children. But the truth is he is not one of us. And we cannot treat him as we would a Wolfrider.” He considered a moment. “Kit, none of us want to drive away an elf who seeks to live with us, as long as that elf truly wishes to become a part of this tribe. Does Littlefire truly wish to be part of Thorny Mountain Holt? Or will he always stand apart, a lone elf who happens to eat our kills and sleep in one of our dens?” 

“It will take time and patience. But he doesn’t want to be alone all the time. He wants kin and tribemates the same as the rest of us.” 

Redlance considered her words further. At length he nodded. “Littlefire can stay. If he can forgive our mistakes this evening, we will forget any of this happened and start anew. But he is your responsibility, Kit. We have a lot of work to do before the white-cold sets in. If he proves a continued disruption or his presence interferes with your duties–” 

“Then you will come to me, and I will settle the matter with him.” 

“Agreed.” 

**Redlance, you can’t!** Strongbow sent. **That... that creature is dangerous. He attacks like the Black Snake, invading my mind–** 

Kit rounded on Strongbow, her cold control shattered. “Don’t you speak of attacks!” 

“The matter is settled,” Redlance said, raising his hand to abort further quarrels. “We’ll begin again tomorrow. The sun will be up soon.” 

Kit gave him a grateful nod of the head and turned for the door. 

**He’s living in your den?** Strongbow spat at her. **Is he your furmate now?** 

She glared back at him. “That is none of your concern.” 

* * * 

Littlefire was completely bewildered by the behaviour of the Wolfriders as they clumsily tried to befriend him. One-Eye rubbed the back of his neck nervously and stammered that he was sorry for what he said at council. Clearbrook tried to touch his shoulder in affection. Nightfall smiled at him when he passed her. 

“They are all two-faced!” he exclaimed to Kit. “They say one thing and mean another!” 

“They’re trying to be kind. Wolves may not always get along, but there’s nothing to be accomplished by growling at each other every day.” 

“I’d rather they told me what they were feeling. At least with your parents I know what they think of me.” 

So Kit relayed his message to Redlance and the other elders. The next night One-Eye came up to Littlefire. “Look, cub. I think you’re very strange. I’ve never seen the like of you, and when I see wolves that behave like you, they’re usually being run out of the pack. And... and it’s hard for an old growler like me to warm to things I don’t really understand. But you said you think we’re all just as strange, so I guess that makes sense. But we’ll figure how to get along without snapping at each other, right? And if you do something that bothers me, I’ll just let you know, and if I do something bothers you, you let me know, and maybe we’ll both learn not to bother each other.” 

Littlefire was still smiling when he saw Kit again. 

If mending feelings between tribemates was relatively easy, finding something for Littlefire to do was harder. At first Kit took him with her to collect berries, thinking the repetitive task would suit him. He collected half a basket of berries, then disappeared. She found him by the brook, watching the fish. She calmly redirected him to his task, but soon Littlefire began picking the wrong kind of berries, not sweet blackberries, but the dark brown sourpods. 

Undaunted, Kit set him to scraping hides. He was very good at softening the hides – too good at times, and he and Moonshade often fell to fighting when she thought he was scraping too hard. 

“He’ll leave us in tatters if I don’t watch him like a hawk,” she growled at Kit. “He scrapes holes right through the leather sometimes. I can’t use him.” 

Hunting was no good – the sight and smell of blood overwhelmed him. Gathering was no good – he could never seem to tell one plant from another. Tanning was denied him. Smoking meat was another avenue she tried, and Littlefire seemed to enjoy it, though Woodlock always had to be by his side, handling the raw meat Littlefire wouldn’t touch, watching to ensure that Littlefire didn’t let the meat burn in the fire. 

“It’s not really working,” he confessed to Kit. “Better I just handle it myself.” 

Feeling guilty that she still could not find a useful contribution for Littlefire to make, Kit refused to take the tribe’s hard-won meat for the Glider. Instead she hunted alone, after riding with Nightfall and her parents, to find food for Littlefire. She brought back rabbits and small birds which she always roasted before she brought them to her den. 

Eventually she coaxed him out of the den to sit on a branch closer to the Holt. Night by night, she invited him to sit closer. By the time the first frost began to stick to the ground, she and Littlefire would eat their roast meat above the rest of the pack, close enough to hear snatches of conversation, but far enough away that Littlefire did not feel smothered. 

She had to eat roast meat around him, and while she found it odd at first, she grew fond of it. Spar joined them often, for she too preferred roasted meat, and Spar taught Kit how to flavour the roasts with herbs and even the juices of certain fruits. 

Littlefire grinned when he first tasted it. “Mother makes roast like this!” 

Spar smiled. “Who do you think taught me?” 

Littlefire slept with Kit in her den, but they kept themselves wrapped in separate blankets and Littlefire often slept with his back to her. At first Kit thought her presence was disturbing him. When she asked him, he blushed and first simply that he couldn’t fall asleep if knew he’d see her face when he opened his eyes. 

Autumn turned to winter, and the first snow began to fall on Thorny Mountain. Still Kit struggled to find a task for Littlefire, and the effort of doing enough work to two began to take its toll. Kit became increasingly irritable, especially around her parents, and once again whispers engulfed the tribe. 

“We allowed you to tutor Littlefire to help him find his place in this tribe, not to pull you further from us,” Redlance warned her. 

“You allowed?” Kit shot back angrily. “Will you allow me to leave this tribe, should Littlefire and I not live up to your expectations?” 

“It’s all that Glider’s fault,” Moonshade growled one night at another secret council at Redlance’s den. “We should cast him out before it gets worse.” 

“We’re a family, Moonshade,” Rainsong protested. “Families do not simply cast off their members when there is a disagreement.” 

**Littlefire is no family of ours!** Strongbow sent. **This Holt is a Wolfrider Holt. We have a chief and a Way and everyone must know his place. If they both want to run chiefless than send them packing to the Great Holt.** 

“You do not mean that!” Moonshade cried. “Send our daughter away? We’ve already lost Dart.” 

“What is this talk of losing?” Redlance asked. “Did we not found this Holt because we knew the Wolfriders need not be in one territory to be one tribe. And what is this ‘chiefless’ Strongbow? Chose your thoughts carefully. Does Swift not ride as chief of all Wolfriders still?” 

**The Way is in short supply in the Great Holt,** Strongbow sniffed. 

* * * 

“They’re all blaming me,” Littlefire whispered one afternoon as he and Kit bundled together in their furs, watching the snow fall outside the den. 

“No. They glare at me just as sharply. Let them. I don’t care anymore.” She wrapped her cape of rabbitskins more tightly around her shoulders. “I’ve seen a side of my family, of my friends, that I didn’t expect... I don’t know – I don’t know if there’s anything to keep me here anymore.” 

She waited for him to leap at the chance, to suggest they call the Palace and escape to the great Holt, or perhaps the Wild Hunt and the soothing emptiness of the Plainswaste. But when she glanced back at him, he was pensive. 

“Your heart is here,” he said at length. 

He might not be a hunter, but his aim was true, she thought to herself. “And where is your heart, Littlefire?” 

There was a loud pause, and she wasn’t certain he had heard her. But at length he bit his lip and sighed. “I don’t know. It... wanders... gets lost. Maybe... that’s why I wander.” He looked up at her, a quick flicker of his blue-grey eyes. Then he closed his eyes tight, and Kit wondered if there might be something more. 

“Littlefire...” she swallowed. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Have you... ever had a lovemate?” 

He shrugged, non-commital, but with a certain furtiveness in his averted gaze. “Once. I-I-I mean – one lovemate, not one – well, well, well – uh, in Green Moon Bay. An Islander, not a – a pirate, but a villager. Her... um... name is Corbie.” 

“I don’t know her.” In truth, Kit had only briefly seen Green Moon Bay and the culture of the Islander elves, and found it far too alien for her Wolfrider-reared senses. “What’s she like?” 

“Kind... gentle...” there was affection, but nothing more in his voice. A patient initiator, then, but not a real lovemate. 

“And... did you – enjoy joining?” 

He shrugged. “It was... intense.” 

“A... pleasant intensity or an uncomfortable one?” 

He jerked his head. “Neither. Both. Can’t it just be – intense?” 

“I suppose so.” 

Littlefire continued to nod his head nervously. “Kit? Do... do you want to be my lovemate?” 

Kit found her breath catch her in throat. “I do,” she stammered. “But... do you want me to be yours?” 

“I – I-I don’t...” he began, and her heart sank. “I... can’t... think...” He closed his eyes tight and twisted a lock his hair nervously. “I... I’m afraid.” 

“Of what?” 

Still he kept his eyes closed. “Of what could happen,” was all he could say. 

“What could happen?” 

“It could... be too much. I could... make a mistake. I could start sending.” 

“That's all right.” 

“No, it's not. I could hurt you. You could hate me. You could... could fear me.” 

She touched his cheek, and his eyes snapped open in alarm. Gently, Kit leaned forward, and he did not draw away. Her lips brushed against his, and she felt him tremble slightly under her touch. Kit drew back to better regard him, and Littlefire licked his lips nervously. 

But he did not look away. 

“A pleasant intensity or an uncomfortable one?” she asked again. 

“Most... certainly pleasant,” he stammered. 

She kissed him again, and this time Littlefire responded, pressing his mouth back against hers, his hand at first trembling against her shoulder, then clutching her furred cloak tightly. 

But at length he was the one to break the embrace, and he looked away, shame written on his face. “Kit... forgive me...” 

“Shh. There’s nothing to forgive.” 

“It’s not... that I do not...” he stammered. “Only... I...” 

“I know.” She summoned a kind smile. “The white-cold is long,” she said, and Littlefire smiled shyly. He gave her a barely-perceptible nod. Kit took his hand in hers and gave it a friendly squeeze, and Littlefire, though he did not meet her eyes, squeezed back. 

* * * 

The white-cold set in with a viciousness not seen in many years, and the hunters struggled to keep the storeholes filled. They were now down to only a few remaining brightmetal arrowheads, and One-Eye had yet to crack the mystery of the blackstone. Kit’s quiver now held arrows tipped with crude bone points which Littlefire had carved for her. 

At least he could help out with some chores. But carving bone into arrowheads was no special skill. She knew that somewhere Littlefire held a gift that would benefit the entire tribe. She had only to find it. 

She was mulling over that as she busied herself fletching her new arrows. Her arrows were not fit for use, she thought to herself as she stripped the feathers with her knife, preparing to bind them to the arrow shaft with a length of sinew. 

Littlefire hovered at her shoulder, watching her intently. She wondered if she could teach him to fletch arrows – but then the process was surely too complicated for him. He would cut the feathers bent, or tangle the sinew around the shaft, or... 

She felt his nose against her bound hair, and she doubted he was even paying attention. 

How many times had attempted lessons ended thus? she wondered. Too many to keep count for one so schooled in the Now. Hand against hair, cheek against cheek, and Littlefire lost all thirst for learning. She thought fondly of an episode, only a few nights past, when she had tried to teach him how make a little bark bag for storing nuts. At first he had watched her fingers weaving the bark strips. But he was so easily distracted, and before long he was scrutinizing her face with the same fascination. A little shiver laced through her shoulders as she recalled how he had followed that careful inspection with his fingertips. For someone who still feared the physical intensity of joining, Littlefire could be a remarkably... sensual creature. 

“Kit? What’s wrong?” 

She smiled. There was no point in being surprised he had sensed her shiver. “Nothing. Don’t worry.” 

He nuzzled against her neck and slipped his arms about her waist. She smiled still, but a bittersweet edge touched her expression. Was it only love making her blind? No, no, Littlefire did have gifts to offer the entire tribe. But unless she could convince them of his worth, he was always one step away from exile. 

Worth... what was worth? Who had the right to decide who was worthwhile and who wasn’t? The last few months had taught her a harsh lesson about her tribemates... especially her parents. It was easy to be willingly blind to their faults when she had been the indulged cub. Even when they had fought her vision of howls frozen in time, suspended in words, she had consoled herself with the certainty that they would understand one day. Only now it was becoming clear that there were some things they did not want to understand – and that everything beyond the boundaries of the Way was to be feared and distrusted. 

I am outside the Way, wasting hides like that. They’ve made it clear that my howls are without worth. 

Frustration overwhelmed her, and the knife slipped in her hand. It skimmed the edge of the feather’s vane and cut her forefinger from the top knuckle to the tip. Kit cried out, immediately clapping her other hand over the cut. 

Littlefire let out a gasp and drew back in horror. “It’s all right,” Kit insisted. “It’s just a scratch.” She snatched up a leather scrap and pressed it against her finger to staunch the flow of blood. “See. See, it’s covered up.” 

Littlefire stared at her in horror. “You’re hurt. You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!” 

“It’s all right. I’ll – I’ll go see Rainsong. I’ll get her to heal it up. You just wait here. Wait here. I’ll return soon, all healed. All right?” 

Littlefire closed his eyes and bent his head against the heavy fur collar of his jacket. At length he nodded. 

Kit snatched up her parka and laced it up, struggling to keep the bandage over her finger so that he would not see the blood. She untied the straps holding the leather doorflap in place and slipped out into the early morning. The wind had stopped, and the world was all still and silver outside the den. Kit pulled her hood over her hair and climbed down to the forest floor. 

The blood flow was already ebbing. It was little more than a flesh wound, not worth bothering Rainsong, who was probably bundled up in her furs with Woodlock trying to keep warm. Kit paced through the snow, knee deep, until she came to a large rock poking out of the white drifts. She sat herself down and snatched up a handful of snow. She wrapped the freezing powder around her finger and winced against the cold. Soon enough the snow had completely staunched the bleeding. 

Not bad, she decided, examining the scab of dried blood that was forming over the shallow cut. She buried the bloody scrap of leather in the snow, then climbed back up into the trees. She did not return to her den right away, but paced from branch to branch in the cold, waiting for the lingering scent of blood to leave her. 

At length she slipped back inside the den, expecting to find Littlefire cowering the corner still. Instead he was sitting by her arrows, delicately tying sinew around a fully-fletched arrow. 

“Kit!” he said, a little too loudly. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, puzzled. 

He held up the arrow. “Is it all right?” 

He had completed the fletching on the shaft, but he had done something more. “Littlefire... what did you do?” Kit examined it carefully. “You added an extra row of feathers.” 

“Is it wrong? I-I thought it would work. Give it... give it lift. Will it work?” 

Kit smiled patiently. “Let’s find out. You wait here where it’s warm, and I’ll take a shot from a clear break in the trees.” She took her bow and slipped back outside into the cold. She climbed up to a suitable perch and notched the new arrow, aiming away from the holt. It would probably fly wild; she knew too well that one little irregularity in the feathers would send the arrow off course. Littlefire’s extra vanes would probably lift the arrow right into the clouds. 

She took aim on a distant tree trunk, far beyond the reach of an actual arrow, to line up her sights. With luck she would be able to recover the arrow wherever it landed. Littlefire would feel terrible if his fletching ended up losing her a weapon. 

She shot the arrow and watched it disappear into the night. It shot silently and smoothly, and she quickly she lost sight of it. Had it dropped out of the air? It must have, for there was nothing in its path that it could have struck. At least it had been on course for the distant pine tree. 

She climbed down to the lower understory and scanned the moonlit snow for signs of the arrow. She paced to where her instinct told her a standard arrow with a heavy bone head would eventually fall. Nothing. Frowning, she searched the nearby area, certain it had wobbled off course. Nothing. The snow was untouched. She slowly combed her way back to where she had begun at the tree that housed her den. Still nothing. 

And then, just for curiousity’s sake, she hiked back towards the pine tree at which she had been aiming. 

At last she found the arrow, lodged deep in the sticky bark of the tree. 

“Well, fry me for a fool,” she breathed, yanking the arrow free. She examined the bone point. “I wonder...” 

* * * 

Littlefire flew alongside as Kit and One-Eye rode down the faint game trail through the snow. Kit’s wolf Shystrides was the smallest of the pack, but this white-cold the feisty beta female had grown a fluffy winter coat that made her almost as large as Blackmask, the alpha male and One-Eye’s mount. Littlefire kept a wary distance from both wolves. Even Shystrides’s play bows frightened him. Another mark against him in the eyes of the tribe. But Kit took heart. He had been afraid of them all when he had first arrived, but gradually he was overcoming his fears. 

He was so brave. He could have hid himself in the caves at the Great Holt and become a recluse, spending his days travelling within. But he chose to travel without and confront the overwhelming sensations of the physical world. Perhaps it was so for those Firstcomers who chose to embrace the wolfsong and the life it offered. They could have laid down and died, shedding their skin and escaping all pain and fear. But they had the courage to endure the pain and forge a new life. 

She smiled at the comparison. She would remember it the next time anyone questioned whether Littlefire belonged in a Wolfrider tribe. 

**Why are you coming along?** One-Eye asked. **Clearbrook could have helped me carry the blackstone back to our Holt. And you know the Glider won’t like it on the other side of the mountain.** 

**I have an idea,** Kit sent back simply. **But I want to test it out of sight of the others. If it works, we’ll have a great surprise for the tribe.** 

**Just because he stumbled on a way to fletch arrows doesn’t mean he’ll have the same success with knapping stone.** 

She rode Shystrides up alongside him. “He only watched me fletch two arrows and he figured out a way to extend the flight’s distance by half again. Half again, One-Eye! You said he didn’t contribute to our storeholes. Imagine if he could knap arrowheads to match. Imagine how our storeholes would swell then.” 

“I think you’re gambling on chance.” 

She grinned. “Come on, One-Eye. What’s life without a little toss-stone?” 

They crossed over the south-west ridge of Thorny Mountain. By the subtle change in scents Kit knew they were now in Pack territory. Littlefire flew close behind her as they continued along the game trail towards the Yellow Creek and the great stronghold of limestone that served as Holt for the small Go-Back tribe. 

* * * 

The winds always blew more harshly on the west side of Thorny Mountain, and Kit was forced to clench her parka more tightly around her throat. The Yellow Creek bubbled with hot pools and modest steam vents as they followed it downstream towards the Fortress. A heavy whiff of sulphur hung in the air, and now and then they came upon the crumbling yellow rocks that gave the river its name. At length they came to the great ravines and caverns the river had carved into the rocks long ago. Towers of limestone served as lookout posts and bonfire platforms. The gully that cradled the creek was the Go-Backs’ main assembly place. And the only entrance to the Fortress that did not involve rock climbing was Four Points, a perfect crossroads of water-gouged ravines that allowed a single sentry to monitor all comings and goings of the clan. 

The chief climbed down from a lookout to greet them as they slipped in through the south gate. He was a typical Go-Back, round-faced and wicked-eyed, with wild hair scarely contained by his fur hat, and a stocky build born of generations spent in the high arctic. “Well, well, the Wolfriders are back!” the Go-Back announced. “And you brought your pet bird! Hullo there, Misfit.” 

“Hello Loudmouth,” Littlefire replied. 

The Go-Back laughed heartily, and Littlefire flinched, though a hint of a smile graced his face. Humor was a foreign concept to him; he seemed incapable of grasping the simplest jest. But he had learned that simple reply provoked good spirits in the Go-Backs, and he thus employed it. 

Kit noted that there was no trace of resentment in his eyes at being called “misfit.” The Go-Backs admitted their opinions openly, and Littlefire responded in kind. No hidden meanings, no chance for misunderstanding. 

“Hello, Vorik,” One-Eye said. “I hope I haven’t exhausted your blackstone mine yet.” 

“Back for more already? Of course we have lots to spare, but I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever see your end of the bargain, hey? Still can’t do anything but make powder, hey?” 

“I’ll make powder out of your head, cub, if you keep us out in the cold much longer.” 

Vorik laughed. “Come on in. This weather isn’t fit for a troll!” 

Inside the walls of the Fortress the wind disappeared and the temperature rose. “Ah, this is the life,” Voril spread his arms wide. “Why you Wolfriders chose to live in trees in beyond me.” Kit’s eyes scanned the sheer rock walls, dripping with frosty lichens and snow-dusted ferns, and she had to admit a tinge of jealousy. Inside the walls, it was mild in winter and cool in summer. 

Go-Backs bounded down from the rocks to greet their guests, and Littlefire conspicuously wedged himself between Kit and One-Eye for protection. The Pack numbered eight-and-six following a productive summer in which two fawns were born. Kit could barely remember when the Pack first settled on Thorny Mountain, a mere ten elves, disenchanted with life on the Plainswaste under Mardu’s leadership, eager to discover the green wonderland of the Wild Hunt’s campfire tales. She had only been a child of six, terrified by the wild-haired creatures, who cursed and roared like the Go-Backs of old, before the capture of the Palace and the Go-Back Exile had tempered their kin somewhat. 

Her father had hated the interlopers, she recalled. **Let them find another mountain!** he had sent at council soon after they arrived. **This is Wolfrider territory.** 

“Our mountain can hold two tribes,” Nightfall said reasonably. 

**Bah, a tribe of wild cubs playing at being warriors! A mad pack of yearling wolves!** 

So Strongbow had jeeringly dubbed them the Yellow Creek Pack. And the Go-Backs, when they first heard the insult, adopted it as their official name. 

“Kit!” a sandy-haired lad leapt down from his perch. “No Spar with you this time?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Kit laughed. “And I shan’t be keeping you warm tonight, either, Dom. You’ll just have to settle for Mab or Mian.” 

Dom pouted. Males outnumbered lifebearers in the Pack, and Kit and Spar had used that ratio to their advantage many times before. 

“You must be frozen to the bone,” Vorik said. “We’ll get some meat roasted for you. Even you, One-Eye, you must want some nice charred smoky deer meat after a ride through that blizzard.” 

“You’re all soft!” One-Eye laughed. “This is a mild day compared to what we faced in the Frozen Mountains. But if I can’t take my meat fresh and blood-warmed, then I’d rather it charred than frozen solid.” 

A hearty meal of rich venison later, the travellers were shown to the snug caves reserved for visiting Wolfriders. Heavy hide doors kept out the chill, while fur blankets softened the rocky ledges. Vorik tossed One-Eye a few large flakes of blackstone. “We’ve got a few scraps left in camp. The rest will have to wait until morning. I’m not sending out my scouts in weather like this – not when there are fires to stoke and beds to warm.” 

One-Eye took out a piece of flint he had kept tucked away in a pocket of his parka. “All right, Littlefire. “Watch closely. This is flint. And this what I use to knap it.” He withdrew an egg-shaped stone. “This is my hammer stone. You hold the flint,” he faced the flint away from his body, “and strike at the angle of a tuft-eagle fishing,” he struck the hammer stone against the top of the flint. Littlefire flinched at the sound.A flake of flint fell away. “And again.” Another chip fell away. “See now, you can’t make a good flake large enough for an arrowhead with one strike. You have sculpt away at it. And again. And again!” 

“Stop!” Littlefire cried. He held out his hands, and One-Eye reluctantly handed over the flint and hammer stone. Littlefire ran his fingers over the edge of the flint core, then tapped the stone several times. “No, now you’re holding it wrong,” One-Eye began as Littlefire aimed a blow. 

The hammer stone struck and a large flake fell away. 

“Well, I’ll be! Well done!” One-Eye exclaimed. 

Littlefire struck again. And again. One-Eye reached out to take the intruments back, but Littlefire turned his back, and continued to work. Moments later he gave out a chirp of surprise as a huge piece of flint dropped to the ground. “Is it good?” he asked, holding up the flint flake. 

“Good?” One-Eye took the flake. “Littlefire, this is... this is incredible. I took me moons to flake with this precision. How did you do this?” 

Littlefire shrugged. “It just... seemed right. The way the stone feels... the sound the hammerstone made when you struck... it... seemed right.” 

Kit laughed and clapped her hands. “I knew it. Try the blackstone next.” 

“All right, now blackstone is a lot harder to figure out,” One-Eye said. He picked up a piece of the shiny black glass. “Watch. I try the same way, striking at the angle of a eagle fishing.” He brought the hammer stone down. A fracture went through the black glass and the obsidian broke into two jagged pieces. “Bah, a bad break,” he growled. “Let’s try it again. This time we’ll try a lower angle.” He struck, and this time the fracture ran down the middle, shattering the stone. 

“Agh! See, it’s like this every time. I can’t find the right angle. The break is always off. I’ve tried breaking large pieces, then refining the edges with bone and antler, but it takes too long, and half the time there’s a break somewhere deep inside the flake from the first knapping.” 

Littlefire picked up the largest of the fragments. He tapped the stone, then ran his finger along the edge. He yelped as he cut his finger. “Aye, it’s sharp – sharper than brightmetal. That why it’ll help us so if we can just find a way to use it.” 

“Littlefire,” Kit murmured. “Your finger. It’s bleeding.” 

“Hmm,” Littlefire sucked his finger to staunch the flow. “Puck’nuts,” he growled. “Hurts.” 

“But the scent isn’t making you sick?” 

Littlefire shrugged. “It’s my own.” He shook his hand, then took up one of the larger pieces of blackstone. He held out his hand for the hammerstone. 

“Be careful now,” One-Eye said. 

Littlefire brought the hammerstone down on a diagonal, slight angle. He chipped off a very small piece. He tapped the stone again, then adjusted the angle, making it higher. Kit and One-Eye watched as Littlefire methodically worked away, adjusting the direction of the striking stone. His speed and confidence was amazing. Moments later he held up a perfectly formed flake of volcanic glass, detached from the main core. 

“Is it good?” 

“By my eye,” One-Eye took the little spearhead from Littlefire. “How did you do that?” 

“I just... listened to the rock. The sounds, the shivers the hammer stone sends through it.” He looked from Kit to One-Eye, bewildered by their awe-struck expressions. “Did I do it right?”


	3. Part Three

One-Eye retired to his own cave, while Kit and Littlefire slept in a little cave next to his. It was small, womb-like, barely big enough to sit up in. Littlefire liked it. 

Kit sat up in bed, scratching a series of symbols into the wall. “What are you saying?” Littlefire asked. 

She pointed to the three symbols in turn. “ ‘Kit’ ‘slept’ ‘here.’” She settled back down next to him. “A little something to confuse whoever sleeps here next.” She began to take down her braided hair, and Littlefire hastened to help her. As always, her hair never so much came down as it twisted about his fingers. 

“Littlefire?” 

“Hm?” 

“When are you going to teach me your language?” 

He frowned. “What–” 

Kit turned to face him. “Locksend with me.” 

“What?” 

“Locksend with me. Let me see the world through your eyes.” 

Fear seized his eyes. “No. No. Too sharp. Too much. Strongbow–” 

“Strongbow provoked you.” 

“No. No.” He shook his head. “No one can hear my sending. Only... only Father or the High One. I’d hurt you.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“You don’t–” 

Kit took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. **Littlefire...** 

Slowly he met her gaze. At first she heard nothing in reply. Then she felt a strange sensation against her left hand. Though it lay in her lap, against cold leather, she could swear she felt the warmth of another’s skin under her palm. And then a moment later she felt another layer of warmth over the back of her hand. Simply heat at first, then as the sensation became more defined – the touch of four fingers. 

“What...?” 

It was her skin she felt, and her fingers, she realized. She was feeling what he felt. 

Her mind was flooded with sensation now. The almost painful scratching of a fur collar at her throat, the rhythmic throbbing of a heartbeat in her ears, the static wreathing her head as the dry snowstorm made her hair rise – his hair. 

Suddenly it was so bright. 

“Littlefire?” she asked, and she heard an echo, disorienting, but not entirely unpleasant. 

All her senses were heightened, yet blurred at once, as though she had eaten some unripe dreamberries. How could every sensation be bewildering intense and indistinct at the same time? Her eyes slid closed against the bright light. She heard a soft noise in the distance, someone shouting over a winter gale. 

“Kit...” the voice repeated. 

It was Littlefire’s voice. 

She found herself staring into his eyes. They were so deep, so rich with emotion, they seemed to emit a light of their own, almost blinding her, let drawing her gaze, like a flame drawing in a moth. She blinked and suddenly they were her own eyes, wide and dark brown, but charged with skyfire. 

She swooned forward, and suddenly she was enveloped by a crushing weight. And yet the intense pressure did not feel uncomfortable in the least. 

**Kit?** 

Slowly the sensations faded and Kit lift her head. Littlefire was holding her tight. 

Her stomach was knotted with terror. She realized it was his own fear for her welfare. 

No wonder Strongbow had been overwhelmed, having suddenly felt Littlefire’s own fears. 

She smiled raggedly and the pain abated. “I’m fine,” she managed to whisper, and now she felt waves of delight and contentment wash over her. She caught snatches of words, whispers and distant shouts overlapping with emotions and blurred imagery, like a string of her symbols smudged while the paint was still fresh. Concern turning to relief, fear turning to joy... 

**Yes,** she replied, grinning now. **I understand!** Tears welled in her eyes – or were they his eyes? She could no longer see his face; she was lost in the world of sendings and sensory overload. She laughed – it was clearly her voice now. **I understand!** she repeated, overjoyed. 

His arms had slackened about her shoulders, but now he gripped her even tighter as his mouth crushed against hers. Their lips burned in the combined vision of locksending, and Kit clung to him as skyfire raced along their skin. Now the world seemed to shrink around her, until she heard nothing but their racing pulses and saw nothing but the sparks of light that seemed to dance around them. 

* * * 

Nearly an eight-of-days later Kit and One-Eye assembled the Thorny Mountain Wolfriders around the snow-covered meadow just beyond the Holt for a demonstration. Kit set two long sheaves of bark in the snow just out of reach of the standard arrow and sent Spar to stand next to them to observe theresults. Another twenty paces beyond the targets the forest began, and the wolfpack lounged in the snow under the shade. The gray winter sun stung Strongbow’s eyes, and he shaded his gaze with a gloved hand. **Why couldn’t this have waited until nightfall?** he grumbled. 

Littlefire hovered in the air nearby, but just out of reach. The Wolfriders clustered around Kit in anticipation. They had all noticed One-Eye’s newly upbeat mood and they could only hope the riddle of the blackstone had been solved. But One-Eye only smiled shrewdly and kept Kit’s quiver of arrows covered with a spare ravvit-skin. 

“May I?” Kit took one of the few metal-tipped arrows from Nightfall’s quiver. “Watch, Wolfriders. This is our usual arrow design, with a brightmetal arrowhead.” She nocked it in her bow. **Spar? Are you watching?** 

**Fire away,** Spar sent back. **But you won’t make this target.** 

Kit took aim at the left target and fired. The arrow whistled in the crisp air, and sailed cleanly for the target. It began to lose altitude as it neared the bark sheaf, and when it reached the target it ricocheted off and dropped to the ground. 

**Well?** 

Spar leaned in. **You nicked it. A blackfly bite on a deer, nothing more.** 

“Your targets are too distant, daughter,” Moonshade said. She squinted at the distant bark sheaves. “Not even your father can kill a buck at that range.” 

“She’s right,” Nightfall said. “Eventually, arrows simply cannot fight the pull of the earth, no matter how well they are crafted or how well they are shot.” 

Kit nodded. “One-Eye.” 

One-Eye drew out a single arrow, fletched with the stabilizing vanes and tipped with a glistening obsidian arrowhead. The elves leaned in for a closer look,and Woodlock whistled appreciatively. “Blackstone?” 

“What did you do to the feathers?” Nightfall asked. “Those are fletched wrong.” 

**Spar?** Kit sent as she nocked the arrow. 

**I’m ready.** 

Kit shot the arrow. It flew clear across the meadow, its feathers catching the air and holding it aloft. It struck the target with nearly no diminishment in speed, and the obsidian head cleaved the bark clean in two. The arrow continued on, until it struck the trunk of a distant tree at the far edge of the meadow. 

Kit turned to the elves, all standing agape save for One-Eye and Littlefire. 

Silence reigned as Spar jogged off in search of the arrow. **It’s here!** she sent back at length. **Sunk deep. That’s a kill if I ever saw one.** 

**Bring it in,** Kit sent. **I think the demonstration’s over.** 

Now One-Eye let the elves examine the dozen arrows in Kit’s quiver, and each packmember took up an arrow, admiring the new heads and novel tail designs. 

“How did you get that distance?” Woodlock asked. 

“Look at the edge of these points,” Nightfall breathed. 

“Sharper than brightmetal... and when fired with that power...” Clearbrook said. 

Strongbow examined an arrow in silence, wonder written across his face. 

“We’ll howl for you and One-Eye, Kit,” Redlance announced. “We knew you’d crack the riddle of the blackstone – and with this new fletching we’ll never know empty bellies again.” 

“I wish we could take the praise for ourselves, my chief,” One-Eye said. “But it wasn’t my doing, nor was it Kit’s.” 

“Then who?” 

“Yes, who?” Clearbrook asked. 

One-Eye and Kit looked up at Littlefire, who sheepishly floated down to the ground. 

Strongbow stared. **Him?** 

“I’ve never seen such a sight,” One-Eye said proudly. “Watched me knap one piece of flint and he knew how to do it. And he had blackstone mastered before I could even finish telling him how cursed impossible it was to work with the stone.” 

“Littlefire?” Redlance asked. 

Littlefire shrugged. “I... just...” he shrugged again, at a loss to explain. 

“And the fletching?” 

“He watched me prepare two arrows, then make his own that outshot mine by half again the distance,” Kit said. 

“Littlefire?” Moonshade looked from Glider to Wolfriders and back again, still unconvinced. 

“I... I... made a spearhead too,” Littlefire said, almost in apology. “And a knife for scraping hides... I... I think they’ll work.” 

“Aye, they’ll work, all right,” One-Eye laughed. “This Glider just took the title of ‘stoneworker’ right out from under me. Doesn’t surprise me, though. He might not have all of his father’s rockshaping gift, but he knows how to listen to the stone, all right.” 

Kit walked over to Littlefire and took his hand in hers. He glanced at the still bewildered faces of Clearbrook and Nightfall, and the lingering suspicion in the eyes of Strongbow and Moonshade. “Did... is it good?” he whispered under his breath. 

Kit laughed aloud. “It’s perfect, lovemate,” she whispered back. 

He gave her hand a furtive squeeze. 

“We need to test these in the hunt,” Nightfall said. 

“Yes,” Redlance nodded. He turned to Littlefire. “How soon can you make more of these?” 

Littlefire blinked. “I... uh... how many?” 

“Three eights?” Redlance asked. “That won’t be too much at once, will–” 

“Tomorrow!” Littlefire blurted. 

“Well... maybe the day after,” Kit corrected gently. “We’ll set you to work right away, won’t we, Littlefire?” 

* * * 

Two days later Littlefire’s arrows brought down a large buck who had made the mistake of wandering too far from the safety of the wintering herd. The deer was quickly butchered with a blackstone blade, and the hide cleaned with a smaller flake expertly knapped. One-Eye and Redlance were already hard at work devising wooden handles for the knife-blades Littlefire had prepared. 

The majority of the tribe feasted on fresh meat, still steaming from the fresh kill. Spar, Kit and Littlefire ate their roasted portions on a branch above, upwind of the offending odours. When the last of the wolves was gorged and all the Wolfriders sated, Redlance called Littlefire down to join the others. He went cautiously, Kit at his side. 

“Littlefire, we were all a little worried about you when you first came here,” Redlance said. “And we did not always handle our worries well, I admit it. But you’ve earned your packright beyond all doubt. And if you still wish it, we’d like to howl for you as our new stoneworker.” 

“Don’t howl!” Littlefire said sharply. “Too loud. But... thank you,” he finished clumsily. 

Moonshade gathered up the deer hide. “This hide is yours by packright,” she said simply, a hesitant smile on her face. “It’s a fine one, ready to yield enough leathers to clothe two elves.” 

Littlefire took it. “What do I do?” 

“With the hide?” Redlance asked. “That’s for you to decide.” 

Littlefire handed it to Kit. “Oh, no, Littlefire,” she protested. “It’s yours. I’ll have enough hides once the snows melt.” 

“No,” he insisted, offering it to her again. When she accepted it, he tapped the folded leather. “You can howl there,” he said. “It makes more sense to me that way.” 

One-Eye laughed. Rainsong and Woodlock exchanged grins. Strongbow and Moonshade exchanged bewildered scowls. 

* * * 

Kit let the hide soak in the tanner’s pool for two turns of Mother Moons, then stretched and scraped it until it was as soft as mouse’s fur. When it was prepared she began to tell her new howl, not with paint this time, but with cords of dyed sinew and porcupine quills. Slowly words, then sentences began to bloom across the leather. 

“Looks... complicated,” Littlefire pronounced thoughtfully. 

Kit smiled. “You mean complex?” 

He nodded, a touch of bewilderment on his face. There was no difference between the concepts to his mind. 

“Will you teach me read it?” he asked. 

“When it’s finished,” she said, abandoning her canvas to sit next to him on the sleeping furs. She reached underneath the basket of weaving materials and pulled out a large piece of treated bark. A small howl was painted on the page of bark. 

“Until then,” she casually slipped into his lap. Littlefire obligingly wrapped his arms about her waist and set his chin on her shoulder as she began to read the symbols aloud, unlining each pictograph with a dye-stained finger. 

“‘When smallest son of Vaya born, sired by Aurek Eggmaster, child possessed eyes of skyfire clouds – dark blue and gray. Pike Howlkeeper saw the child’s eyes and said “He has eyes of skyfire clouds – thunderstorm eyes this child has.” And Skot saw the child’s eyes and said “This child is the smallest son – he is too small to be a child of skyfire. He is a little fire.” And Vaya looked at her smallest son and named him. She named him, saying “This child is a Littlefire.”’” 

**Wesh.** 

The sound washed over her, like the distant cascade of rolling thunder, just over the horizon. Kit’s breath caught in her throat as she twisted around to look at her lovemate. 

“W-what?” 

“My name,” Littlefire murmured. “She named me Wesh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the full EQ Alternaverse at http://www.janesenese.com/swiftverse


End file.
